


Alright in the End

by HeavyShoegaze



Series: Harry and Hermione Stories [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, More Fluff, Really just nothing but fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 15:25:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15844080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeavyShoegaze/pseuds/HeavyShoegaze
Summary: Coming home late one night, Hermione enjoys her own happily ever after.





	Alright in the End

An H/Hr fic

 

 

Hermione grimaced as the bedroom door squeaked open, her attempts at discretion thwarted by a hinge in dire need of oil. Her breath hitched as she watched her sleeping husband twist slightly at the sound before settling back into sleep, and she made a mental note to tend to the door when she next needed to sneak inside at some ungodly hour without waking anyone.

And the hour _was_ late. The clock downstairs had read _**3:47**_   when she’d apparated to 12 Grimmauld Place, her arms full of about a month’s worth of ministry work and several pages of the _two_ doctoral theses she’d just finished writing. She’d brushed through the double doors, not even looking at the plaque bearing a silver stag and otter and words _Mr. and Mrs. H. J. Potter_. With everyone asleep, the ancestral home of the _Most Ancient and Noble House of Black_ had been dark and covered with shadows. It almost reminded Hermione of the oppressive, haunting manor that Sirius had so doggedly fled from.

Even in the dark and quiet, though, the house was far from what it had been under the Black family. The walls were no longer black and dreary but pastel and bright, the perfect place for a young couple to raise their children. There were even a few posters of what must have been Walburga Black’s worst nightmare: Muggle movies. Namely _Star Wars_ , which was Harry’s favorite. They’d watched all three with the Weasley’s and a few other friends, and Arthur Weasley had legitimately been in tears. Molly had said her husband was more emotional watching Han Solo dipped into carbonite than he’d been during their wedding.

The rest of the foreboding and dark décor favored by the Black house had long been torn down, replaced by bright colors and various Hogwarts banners. Next to the roaring lions and soaring ravens was Ginny’s Hollyhead Harpies pennant while above the Slytherin snake flew Harry’s Puddlemere United flag. The place of highest honor was naturally reserved for the Chudley Cannons. A not quite so sober Ron had stuck the obscenely large banner there during a giant party Harry had thrown – mostly ironically – to celebrate the Cannons’ historic first ever win.

The screaming portrait of the Black matriarch had finally been spelled off the wall, replaced by laughing pictures of Hermione’s family, both blood and otherwise. There was a black and white picture of James, Lily, Sirius, and Remus at the Harry’s parents’ wedding next to the one of a frustrated Harry and a smirking Ginny shaking hands after their first professional match against each other, both under a wide shot of the entire Weasley clan – Harry and Hermione included. The photo of Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore holding a baby Harry was right next to one they’d not known even existed until after the battle of Hogwarts, when Harry walked in the Headmaster’s Office and found a small, dusty muggle picture of baby Harry next to none other than Severus Snape. It was a sad photo, taken in secret at a time when Snape was loathed by the woman he loved, but it was no less important in Harry’s eyes. Their latest addition was from Luna, a photograph of her and Ron during their expedition to South Africa. The happy couple was all smiles and cheer, though the magical camera had managed to catch the moment Ron realized a giant tarantula had crawled up the back of his head. Harry had framed it immediately; it was revenge for the picture of Harry and Hermione’s wedding, a beautiful photograph of the bride and groom on the happiest day of their lives totally marred (or some would say improved) by the best man, their closest friend in the world, dramatically throwing off Harry’s invisibility cloak and smashing wedding cake in their faces. There were a few photographs of Teddy Lupin too, a bittersweet one of Remus and Nymphadora cradling their newborn baby and a photograph taken much later: Teddy in his Hogwarts robes as he boarded the _Hogwarts Express_ for the first time. There was a half dozen of the girls, mostly with Hagrid and McGonagall and finally, one of Harry, Ron, and Hermione the day they’d finally graduated Hogwarts, a full year later than planned.

After spending a fair few minutes reliving those memories, Hermione made her way to her office, in the heart of what used to be the miserable dungeons and was now a giant library overflowing with books. It wasn’t until Hermione saw the second clock, a wedding present from Molly Weasley, that she’d come to her senses and decided her ridiculous work ethic could wait _one_ night. While the first clock was a simple muggle one she’d charmed to tick regularly without a power socket, the second clock was a large grandfather clock with five hands, one for each member of the Potter family, and they pointed to different labels – _home, work, practice, school, Hogsmeade, mortal peril, etc…_ – as appropriate. It was similar to the one the Weasleys had in the Burrow, the one Molly had not-so-subtly added their names to after their adventures First Year. On the Potters’ one, Teddy’s name was permanently stuck to _school_ during the year by request. Ever since he’d begun his first year at Hogwarts he’d all but begged Harry not to use the clock to monitor his every movement like Molly had probably done with them. Hermione had acquiesced, remembering the feeling of freedom Hogwarts had given her and the trouble she, Harry, and Ron had gotten up to in their own years. That isn’t to say she didn’t notice when his hand ticked ever-so-slightly towards _mortal peril_ , no doubt relating to a run-in with Filch. _Mortal Peril_ indeed, and Hermione blamed the boy’s tendency towards mischief on Harry for regaling Teddy with stories of Remus, Sirius, and James – the more they could forget about Peter, the better – and slipping him the Marauders’ Map when he thought she wasn’t looking. ‘ _But ‘Mione! Remus was a Marauder too! He helped make the Map. It’s Teddy’s birthright! Moony’s legacy!’_ Hermione could still hear Harry’s insistent pleading on Platform 9¾. She’d felt a kinship with Lily Potter, who must have endured more than a few headaches wondering what is was that drew the Potter boys to spread mischief and trouble.

This time, though, it was Hermione who found herself chastised by the clock. Teddy’s pointed to _school_ , where he was probably Solemnly Swearing he was Up To No Good and very occasionally doing his homework. Harry’s and the girls’ were pointed to _home_ where they were asleep. Hermione’s wasn’t pointed in any one place but rather darting between two places: _home_ and a taped-over part where Harry had written _Go to bed Hermione_ in a rather eye-grabbing (and if you asked Hermione, patronizing) manner. Hermione suspected that Molly or Andromeda had helped him charm that because she’d never managed to lift it, and the clock continued to guilt-trip her every time she’d lose herself in her work.

Hermione eased herself into the bedroom quietly, her giant stack of papers left on her desk in their office. She had to reluctantly admit that Harry was right – she could use the sleep. Hermione pulled off her formal robes, flicking her wand to hang them in the closet before they could wrinkle. She pulled on some pajama bottoms and dug up one of Harry’s old Gryffindor t-shirts. It was a favorite of hers, soft red and gold fabric from when Harry was captain of the Quidditch team during their eighth year. Hermione hugged herself, enjoying the way the oversized shirt felt over her tired body. As she ran her tongue over her teeth, Hermione weighed abandoning her morals, giving in to debauchery, turning her back on everything she ever believed in, and slipping under the covers without brushing her teeth. _Merlin_ , she was tired, and the spot in the bed next to Harry seemed so inviting…

Begrudgingly, Hermione remembered the two girls sleeping not so far away and the example she needed to set for them in regard to the important things in life, like oral hygiene. And besides, their grandparents would disown her and take poor Rose and Lily in themselves if they caught Hermione wavering in her care of the old pearly whites. Dentists were zealous like that, Hermione thought as she walked to the bathroom. She dutifully brushed, flossed, and gargled, checking her mouth in the mirror. When she was confident that her teeth cleared the bar so the Doctors Granger wouldn’t take her children in the middle of the night, Hermione turned off the light and walked back into the bedroom, her eyes squinting as the got reacquainted with the dark.

There was a single book on the bedside table, a large tome of pre-colonial magic in Africa, and Hermione was sorely tempted to turn on the lamp and finish the chapter on Mansa Musa’s city of alchemists when Harry shuffled again. Hermione resigned herself to the fact that wifely consideration likely meant _not_ waking Harry in the middle of the night so she could read what he called ‘ _the only book more boring than Hogwarts, a History’_. Hermione couldn’t find her copy of that particular text, and she had a strong suspicion Harry used it as a sleep-aid. Regardless, Hermione crawled onto bed, figuring Mansa Musa could wait another night.

Harry was splayed out under the comforter, his face serene in the darkness. The only light came from a small digital clock on the bedside table. It read _4:13_ in red digits that illuminated the side of Harry’s face and where he’d stretched a bare arm, indicating her place. Harry was shirtless, with just a pair of sweatpants that peeked out from the side of the bed. He’d likely been asleep for a while – there was little Harry valued more than his sleep. With Quidditch season approaching the entire Puddlemere United team had gone into overdrive with practice and conditioning, and Harry had come back exhausted every night. Hermione couldn’t remember Quidditch being so intense in Hogwarts – and there had been times when Harry’s authoritarianism on the pitch had truly frightened her.

She’d never seen him as exhausted as he’d been these past few weeks, though.

As she eased herself under the covers, Hermione let out a yelp as a pair of strong arms wrapped around her like a sleepy Devil’s Snare. Harry, who she’d assumed was long into the land of dreams, pressed his nose into the crook of her neck, holding her tightly as she tried to wriggle free.

“Harry!” Hermione hissed as he pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat. “I thought you were asleep.”

Harry shook his head, the wild mess of his hair bobbing around under her chin. He muttered something, but his voice was incomprehensible against the side of her neck. Hermione opened her mouth to say something but was cut off by Harry pulling her tighter against him.

“…missed you, ‘Mione,” Harry mumbled, pressing open-mouthed kisses against her neck. “I waited for you.” Hermione squirmed and wriggled until she lay on her side, face-to-face with one disheveled, half asleep Harry James Potter.

Harry had changed a lot since they’d first met on the Hogwarts Express. The War had aged him and Quidditch had filled him out, and his cheeks and jaw were dusted with stubble. It was a _man_ who lay before her, not the skinny kid she’d gone on adventures with First Year. He bore the weight of their adventures and trials, and some days he felt almost impossibly aged.

He still had that smile, though. It was big and goofy and stretched to his eyes, as if the sight of her was enough to make his day. It was her favorite, that smile. It made Harry’s eyes light up like a pair of burning green suns, making her stomach melt into a warm soup.

“You didn’t have to,” Hermione whispered, rolling her eyes. She doubted Harry could even see the gesture without his glasses – his eyesight was really _that_ atrocious. He proved her point by lunging forwards to give her a peck on the lips and instead hitting her on the cheek, right below the eye.

“Merlin, we’ll have to get Rosie’s eyes tested. She might need glasses soon, if I’m any indication,” Harry grumbled as Hermione laughed at his failure. “She won’t thank me for that.”

“Hopefully the girls take after me, then,” she whispered, kissing him softly. That seemed to cheer him up.

“I always hope that,” he whispered back against her lips. Hermione hummed, feeling Harry’s fingers run through her hair, freeing it from the messy bun. He twirled a brown curl around his finger, the other hand softly caressing her cheek.

“So, long day?” Harry asked when they broke apart, running a hand through her hair as she settled her head on his chest. She listened to the slow beat of his heart for a second before answering him. 

“You could say that, I guess,” Hermione responded. “I was getting ready to present my report on the practicalities of using rosewood for wand construction for Shacklebolt and the Muggle Prime Minister – you’ve heard that it’s become a trend to use rosewood instead of holly, but they’re endangered, and ever since Maurice Boombrow’s report from India there’s been a push to avoid using it so I prepared a thorough cost-benefit analysis comparing his findings with Juniper Wippe’s 12-point comparison between rosewood, yew, and…” She noticed Harry’s eyes glazing over and got to the point. “Anyways, I was about to walk into Shacklebolt’s office when guess who stops me? Rita bloody Skeeter!”

That got Harry’s attention.

“What did she say now?” he asked, grinning. “Let me guess. You and Ron have a secret love-child? I know she was the one behind the story about how Neville doesn’t actually exist. That one’s my favorite. Was it the one where she thinks Seamus and Dean are the same person? Or the one where Dumbledore is still alive?” Harry was having too much fun with this, if you asked Hermione. “Ooh! Does she still think me and Gin are having an affair? That’s a classic.”

“ _Gin and I_ are having an affair,” Hermione corrected, unable to help herself. Harry grinned widely, and Hermione knew it was a trap.

“I _knew_ it! ‘Mione! How could you do this to me? To our children? To _Crookshanks_?” He said, mock outraged. Hermione had to stifle the urge to smack to shite-eating grin from his face. “You know Skeeter,” Harry said comfortingly, seeing her angry expression. “You just have to ignore her.”

“But she came to my office!” Hermione said, absolutely scandalized. “She asked me if Viktor was Lily’s real father! In front of the Prime Minister and the Minister of Magic!”

“Lily?” Harry laughed. “She looks just like me! It’s like staring into a mirror, if mirrors turned you into little girls.” His face turned thoughtful. “I guess you could use a charm, but on a toddler? That’s dangerous if you’re not careful. Then again, you _are_ the brightest witch of your age, so I’m sure you could do it.”

“Shacklebolt and Cameron meet _once a year_!” Hermione hissed. “I wasted twenty minutes of their time because this bloody bint had _one_ picture of you and Viktor racing and of course you must’ve been fighting for my honor or whatever bollocks, and Merlin, I sound like Ronald!”

“I mean…” Harry trailed off sheepishly. Hermione looked at him incredulously.

“It was one dance in Fourth Year!” she exclaimed. “How are you still jealous?”

“Yeah, but you didn’t see you in that bloody dress,” Harry grumbled. He pitched his voice low to match Viktor’s Bulgarian accent. ‘“ _Harry. How is Her-my-own-ninny? I am sure she is as beautiful as the last time I saw her. Please, give her my regards._ ’ You’d best believe I kicked his arse!”

“As I recall, you were staring at Cho,” Hermione sniffed.

“Yeah, well, that’s only because you were out of my league,” Harry muttered under his breath. Hermione tried not to blush at that.

“ _Anyways_ , because of her my meeting went overlong and I had to stay late to finish my thesis. I have my defense at the Kroun’s Institute in _two weeks_! I’ve been working towards this moment for almost two years, and if I fail because of Rita Skeeter…”

“Thesis defense? I thought that was not for a few months?” Harry asked, confused. Hermione looked at him like he was slow.

“My charms thesis,” she said slowly, so he could follow. “That’s the one on the Fairfield booster-diffuser paradox? I have the Qualified Newman’s Exemption one in March.” At Harry’s blank look she clarified further. “March is the Transfiguration thesis. That one’s almost ready, but I decided to take a break for the time being to focus on Charms.”

Harry went cross-eyed trying to follow.

“…Riiiight,” Harry said slowly. “Why are you doing this? You already did that Potions Mastery with the Snake. You’re Dr. Hermione now. Do you get new titles after this? Am I going to have to call you Supreme Mugwump Hermione next?”

“Merlin, Harry,” Hermione said, exasperated. “Draco and I didn’t go to France just for the titles! It’s about the _knowledge_. There’s so much to learn! Why would I stop after seven – _eight_ – years at Hogwarts?”

“Well, what about that runes thing?” he asked. “The thing Professor McGonagall talked about Eighth Year? The Breyer Rune Fellowship? You joined that.”

“And it was very fulfilling. I’ve been asked to write an Ancient Runes textbook – I might write a chapter or two on Inverted Multi-Linear Symmetry in the future.” Hermione said. “But why stop there?”

“You’re done after this, though, right?” Harry asked. “After the Quality Noony thing?” Harry tried to look innocent, but the small quirks at the corners of his lips betrayed is feigned lack of comprehension. He was trying to wind her up.

“Well,” Hermione said hesitantly.

“Bloody hell! What is there left to study!” Harry asked incredulously.

“I’ll probably begin an Arithmancy Doctorate,” she said. “I spoke with a few Professors at the West Bullynose Institute and they think my new version of the Gorgon’s Eye transformation has the potential to reshape our way of thinking about the Hallis-Boil Effect! I could write a workable draft thesis in a few weeks, but I want to finish what I’m currently working on first.”

“I have no idea what you just said,” Harry said honestly. “And I’m not even going to bother asking how Gorgons and their eyes relate to arithmancy. But, you have a full-time job, ‘Mione. How do you have time for this?” He squinted suspiciously. “Have you been using the time-turner again?”

“A little,” Hermione admitted. “Not as much as Third year,” she added hurriedly, before Harry could chastise her. “That was mainly for time conflicts. I only really have to travel once a week or so. Most of the work is paperwork, and I can do that in my office.”

“’Mione,” Harry said, grabbing her head with both hands and making her look him in the eye. “I’m telling you, love, you’ve got to take it easier. I haven’t seen you all week!”

“I just felt bad about neglecting the girls,” Hermione confessed. “I wanted to finish everything before this weekend so there would be no interruptions.”

“Me too,” Harry admitted. “It’s good to have a few days to myself. I’ll be sore for ages!”

“I was going to hex Henry McIntyre if he didn’t give you boys a break,” Hermione whispered, knitting her brow at Harry’s disbelieving snort. “I would! Him and Wood. They’ve lost their mind!. Even the Harpies aren’t going this crazy – I asked Ginny over lunch. She says _her_ coach and captain want to avoid any injuries right before the season. Who’re you boys playing first, anyways, that you need to train so hard?”

“Ginny’s playing the Tornadoes, I think?” Harry said, scrunching his nose in concentration. “We’re playing the Cannons.”

“What am I saying, of course they’re right,” Hermione drawled sarcastically. “In fact, I don’t think your practice schedule is enough. Merlin knows you’ll need all the help you can get against the _Chudley Cannons_!”

“Don’t let Ron hear you say that, ‘Mione,” Harry laughed. “You’ll make him cry harder than when he walked in on Gin and Malfoy. Besides,” he said low and seductively, “I know you’ve gotten _something_ out of all these extra practices.” Harry pulled Hermione on top of him, and she allowed her eyes to rake appreciatively up and down his shirtless form as she straddled him.

“I won’t deny there’ve been certain… _benefits_ ,” she purred, running her fingertips along his jaw and down the side of his neck to his collarbone. She traced a line with her fingers along his chest and over the muscles on his stomach and smirked against Harry’s lips at the way he tensed at her touch. He was in even better shape than he was back in Hogwarts. “Perhaps I won’t hex Henry and Oliver _too_ badly…” Her fingers reached Harry’s waistband and dipped below, and she hissed as he nipped at her lower lip, slightly on edge from her teasing. His hands went to her hips, his fingers pressing against her bones, and they slipped under her loose t-shirt. Hermione moaned as Harry gripped her arse, squeezing shamelessly. As Harry’s tongue slipped in her mouth, she had a sudden recollection and pulled away.

“Speaking of Ginny and _Draco_ ,” Hermione said, sitting up. Her voice changed when she said the name of Harry’s old Hogwarts archrival, taking on a stern, uncompromising bent – the kind she took when Harry and Ron were particularly immature. Harry called it “the McGonagall look”. He groaned, laying back and covering his eyes with a forearm, preparing himself for yet another lecture about _respecting Ginny’s choice_ and _being the bigger man_ , and _Andy and Narcissa have reconciled, why can’t you_.

“’Mione…” Harry whined. “Of all the times I don’t want to think about Malfoy, can you _not_ bring him up while we’re… _you know_ …” He ground himself against her for emphasis. Hermione bit down a moan, but Harry heard it all the same.

“I was going to wait until morning-”

“Brilliant,” Harry interrupted her. “That is why you’re the brightest witch of your age, insights like that. Now help me get that shirt off.” He sat up, pulled her down to his mouth, and kissed her hungrily, his hands rolling her shirt up to her chest. Harry groaned at the feel of her soft skin under his fingers, and he seemed torn between continuing the kiss and taking her top off. Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed him back into the bed.

“If you’re awake enough to snog me, you’re awake enough to listen, Harry Potter,” she said, pinning him with another stern look. “This is important.”

“’Mione, even if Malfoy was _on fire_ , it wouldn’t be important enough to interrupt me snogging you,” he replied honestly.

“See, that attitude there is why we need to have this talk,” Hermione said.

“Malfoy’d better be on fire…” Harry muttered. Hermione continued, pretending she didn’t hear him.

“I told you I had lunch with Ginny and Luna-”

“You didn’t mention Luna!” Harry said, changing the subject abruptly. “How’s she? I haven’t seen her since she got back. Did she find the turquois man-eating pitcher plant? What about the blue nosed bograg? I meant to go visit, but I heard Ron got a rash in Venezuela. I don’t think I’ve seen him so red!” Harry smiled innocently, but Hermione gave him her most unimpressed look.

“She’s wonderful, didn’t find either, but she did say she drew sketches of the ‘ _bronze-breaked snoofer_ ’ – which I still don’t believe exists – and she says Ronald is doing much better. He’s been clear for a week. Now, no interruptions,” she said stiffly, smacking Harry on a muscled shoulder. “I had lunch with Ginny and Luna, and Ginny told us the big news.”

“She’s leaving the Harpies?” Harry guessed.

“ _Harry..._ ”

“Damn. I’d hoped so. Have you seen them? Merlin’s knob they’re stacked. I didn’t think they’d get Henderson _and_ Petersworth! And did you see Willis at that scrimmage against the Kneazles? It was like her bat had a cannon at the end! I’ve never seen a bludger fly that fast! And I heard they’re all riding _Weather Dusters_! Gin sent me a picture – I think she was gloating. I think I should get one. I mean, the Firebolt works and all, but the Weather Duster has half the turning radius. I tried the Wronsky Feint on one a few days ago. I’m telling you, ‘Mione, I could taste the grass on the pitch! I might get one. Gotta stay competitive-”

Hermione cut him off with both hands over his mouth.

“Sweet Circe, you’re as bad as Ginny,” she muttered, shaking her head. “It has to do with Draco!”

“She dumped him?” Harry mumbled, muffled behind her fingers.

“No, Harry,” Hermione said flatly. “Draco _proposed_ , and…”

“And she said no, right?” Harry asked, horrified. “Sweet Merlin, please tell me she said no!”

“…Harry…”

“She had to say no,” Harry insisted.

“Ginny said yes, Harry,” Hermione said, annoyed.

“Oh Merlin, I’m going to be sick,” Harry exclaimed, going green.

“This is why Ginny talked to me!” Hermione snapped. “She _knew_ you and Ronald would react like this!”

“It’s _Malfoy_ ,” Harry said, scandalized. “You couldn’t stop complaining about him when you went to France!”

“Admittedly, Draco is at his most tolerable in extremely small doses,” Hermione admitted, “but Ginny loves him, and we love her enough to support her in this.”

“Bloody hell, how’s Ron going to take this?” Harry asked. “Should we call a healer? Or just floo St. Mungus in advance and reserve a wing?”

“I’m sure Luna can keep him from overreacting,” Hermione said. “You know, like _you_ did just now. But there’s more…”

“More?” Harry whined. “Malfoy’s practically about to become my brother-in-law. What could be worse?”

“Ginny and Draco want you to be the best man,” she said, bracing herself. Harry’s eyes widened, and Hermione worried for a minute that he’d have a stroke.

“WHAT?!?!” Harry shouted, forgetting it was the middle of the night. They stopped talking and waited a minute, listening for the sounds of children waking up. When they were satisfied that Harry’s outburst had woken neither Rose nor Lily, they continued arguing.

“It’s Ginny’s wedding, so it was always going to be you, Ron, Dean, or Neville,” Hermione explained, trying to keep Harry from losing his mind. “It’s a bit awkward with you, Dean, and Nev, since you all dated her for some time, but Ron and Draco would never get along, and at least you’re a family friend.”

“Family friend?” Harry repeated, incredulously. “Of the Malfoys? How could you say that about me? What the bloody hell did I ever do to deserve that.”

“Stop being so dramatic!” Hermione chastised. “You and Narcissa are practically best friends!” It was true – the Potters and the reunited Black sisters had tea every weekend at the apartment Narcissa and Andromeda bought after leaving Malfoy Manor for good. Narcissa in particular had taken Harry as almost a second son.

“Well, Cissa’s not a git,” Harry said darkly.

“And you’re the reason Draco and his father aren’t in Azkaban, so…”

“I nearly _killed_ him Sixth Year!”

“He nearly killed _you_ many more times!”

“Fine,” Harry bit out. “We’ll probably hex each other halfway through my speech, but fine.”

“Do it for Ginny,” Hermione said. “She asked for you.”

“This is why I named my daughter after Luna,” Harry grumbled, referring to little Lily Luna Potter, who’d turned four not so long ago. “At least she had sense to go with a Weasley.”

“Ginny should have married a Weasley, is that what you’re saying?” Hermione laughed at the way Harry’s eyes crossed in disgust.

“You laugh, but is it that much grosser then marrying _Malfoy_?” Harry asked, his green eyes electric with mirth. “I mean, you know these pureblood types, marrying their cousins and whatnot.”

“Of course, _Mr. Potter_ ,” Hermione said dryly. “Mr. ‘My wizarding family is so old and noble it comes from Ignotus and probably Godric Bloody Gryffindor too’ Potter. Merlin you’re as bad as the Blacks!”

“Hey,” Harry objected. “My grandmother was a Slytherin.” At Hermione’s skeptically raised eyebrow, he continued. “Euphemia Potter was a Slytherin when she was in Hogwarts. That’s were she met my Grandad, Fleamont Potter.”

“Aside from the fact that your grandfather is named _Fleamont_ ,” Hermione giggled, “do you mean to tell me that _James Potter_ , James ‘I’m so Gryffindor I bleed gold’ Potter’s mum… was a Slytherin?!” Hermione started laughing uncontrollably, burying her face into Harry’s chest.

“Scandalous, isn’t it,” Harry agreed, sharing her laughter. “Say what you will, though. My dad had the right of it, marrying my mum.”

“I think you might be a touch biased, love,” Hermione pointed out.

“Maybe,” Harry smiled, “but even still. My dad was smart and married a proper muggleborn.”

“Is that something you recommend, Mr. Potter?” Hermione asked, barely suppressing a grin.

“In fact, I do, Mrs. Potter,” Harry answered cheekily. “Every wizard should find himself a bossy, know-it-all, muggleborn witch.”

“Know-it-all?!” Hermione said, feigning outrage. “I’m not a know-it-all!”

“Of course not, love,” Harry whispered into her ear, one cheeky hand making its way under and up her shirt. “You have five masteries because you’re _not_ a know-it-all.”

“It’s not even three yet.”

“It’ll be five next year,” Harry pointed out. It may have been hubris, but Hermione didn’t bother to disagree.

“I’m not a know-it-all! And I’m not bossy! I’m laid back and easygoing!” she objected. Harry just snickered against her lips. “Harry!”

“Of course you’re laid back, ‘Mione,” Harry whispered gently. “And easygoing and definitely not a know-it-all.” Hermione sniffed triumphantly, and only just barely heard him whisper, _‘Are you doing magic? Let’s see it, then.’_ Hermione wrinkled her nose, trying to remember where she’d heard the words before. _‘Are you sure that’s a real spell? Well, it’s not very good, is it?’_ Harry whispered with a giant grin. _‘I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice and it’s all worked for me.’_ Hermione’s eyes widened in realization.

“Is that supposed to be me?” she hissed angrily.

 _‘I’ve learned all our course books by heart, of course. I just hope it will be enough,’_ Harry whispered back with a smirk.

“Harry!”

 _‘It’s levi-OH-sa, not levio-SAH,’_ Harry parroted from memory. A part of Hermione loved that Harry had remembered the details of how they met, but another part of her wanted to smack the grin off of the cheeky bastard’s face.

“Harry James Potter!” Hermione exclaimed, trying to cover his mouth.

_‘We could have been killed. Or worse, expelled.’_

Hermione grabbed a pillow and whacked Harry with it until he stopped, smothering his breathless laughter.

“And maybe if I _was_ a know-it-all I’d wonder why my husband was so eager to marry someone just like his mum!” Hermione snapped. She regretted the words as soon as she spoke them, hoping she hadn’t gone too far. Had anyone else made a rude comment like that about Harry’s dead mother, he’d likely have whipped out his wand and hexed them on the spot. With Hermione though, he just smirked and pecked her on the lips, knowing exactly how to alleviate any guilt she might’ve felt.

“While we’re talking about the creepy marriages of pureblood elites,” Harry said. “Is Malfoy-” Hermione coughed pointedly. “Is _Draco_ inviting his father?”

Hermione winced. Even though Harry had helped him escape Azkaban, Lucius Malfoy wasn’t exactly the most beloved figure in Wizarding Britain. Narcissa never talked much about her former husband, but Hermione guessed that they spoke regularly if infrequently.

The thought of Narcissa and Lucius brought unbidden memories of Narcissa’s second sister. Hermione shuddered slightly, her fingers darting to the forearm where Bellatrix had permanently carved _‘Mudblood’_ into her flesh. The red, jagged, scarred lettering was meant to be a reminder of her status, a brand marking her forever as less than human in the eyes of Voldemort and his like-minded. Even after the deaths of Bellatrix and Voldemort and many of their followers Hermione still remembered the Bellatrix’s cruel smile, the cut of her cursed knife, and the evil light in her eyes as she drank in Hermione’s screams.

The feel of Harry’s strong arms around her pulling her flush against his chest brought her out of her flashbacks. The hot feel of his skin against hers was grounding, and Harry ran a practiced hand through her curly hair and kissed tears she didn’t realize she’d shed from her eyes.

“…Sorry,” Hermione whispered, running a finger along Harry’s side, where his skin pulled tight against the ripples of his muscles.

“Don’t be,” Harry whispered back. “I never need an excuse to hug you.” Hermione smiled gratefully, nuzzling his cheek. “That’s enough talk of Malfoys and soon-to-be Malfoys who really should know better,” he said. “I’m going to snog my wife. I’ve waited too long.”

With that, Harry kissed her thoroughly. His tongue gently traced the seam of her lips until she granted him entry, after which he softly massaged her own. Hermione closed her eyes and let herself get lost in the feeling of his burning hot body against hers. Harry’s hand trailed up her sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Hermione gasped for air, flushing at the feeling of Harry’s hand cupping her bottom. His hands had often trailed there recently, she thought. He laughed when she told him as much.

“It’s my favorite bottom in the world,” Harry said earnestly. Hermione giggled, squeaking when he squeezed again. Harry turned thoughtful, his lips quirking slightly. “’Mione… have you been… _running_?” Hermione flushed again, this time in embarrassment. Harry and Ron had often laughed at the way she’d abhorred exercise when they were teenagers. It was true, she never ran if she could help it. And she didn’t understand how Harry or Ginny could exercise for a _living_.

“I spend a lot of time sitting down with work and all, so I... well... I started jogging.” At Harry’s quirked eyebrow, she smacked his shoulder. “Hey! I’m getting better! Don’t laugh!”

“I wasn’t laughing,” Harry insisted. He grabbed her arm by the wrist to keep her from striking him and kissed her palm. “You’re beautiful, that’s all.” He kissed her softly. “You’ve always been beautiful.” It was sweet, and Hermione’s heart started to melt. Before Hermione could forget that he was anything more than a Neanderthal guided solely by his cock, Harry squeezed her bottom again, giving her a lecherous smirk. “Not that I’m complaining, though. That is a _fine_ arse.” Hermione collapsed onto his chest, unable to stop the giggles.

“You’re lucky you’re fit, or I’d smack you again, _Potter_ ,” Hermione warned. At least, she tried to sound threatening. Judging from Harry’s smirk, it didn’t work. “You’re a prat.”

“Maybe, but I’m _your_ prat,” Harry said earnestly. Hermione rolled her eyes but kissed him anyways. Harry flipped them over, resting his weight on his forearms on either side of her head. She let out a quick yelp, one that was cut off when Harry slotted his mouth over hers. Hermione figured they’d moved past gentle snogging to shagging her into the bed. Not that she was complaining, but it _was_ almost 5:00. _So much for sleeping,_ Hermione thought, feeling Harry’s warm weight gently press her into the mattress. She sighed as Harry’s lips left hers and found a sensitive spot behind her ear. He lapped and sucked at her skin hungrily while he settled between her open legs. Hermione moaned as Harry ground himself against her, his lips trailing wet kisses down her neck. She arched her back, exposing more of her neck to Harry’s teasing as he worked her shirt up, exposing her chest.

There was a thud outside their bedroom, followed by a whispered _‘Bloody hell!’_  that stopped the pair dead, and Harry rolled off of Hermione and groaned loudly in frustration.

“Rose Minerva Potter! Language!” Hermione chastised loudly, pulling her shirt back on and sitting up to where the door opened, exposing two pairs of wide green eyes.

“…Sorry, Mum,” Rose whispered, slipping into the bedroom, she held her little sister’s hand pulling her in. Lily was half asleep, and she seemed much less eager to interrupt their parents, but Rose stubbornly pulled her along to the bed. Hermione noticed that Lily had a very disgruntled Crookshanks in her arms; the orange cat gave all four of the Potters a rather unkind stink-eye.

“What are you doing still up, Rosie?” Harry asked, reaching out to pull the girls onto the bed. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“There was trolls!” Rose said worriedly. “They eated us!”

“Eated us!” Lily squeaked nervously. Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes; it was never too early to get one’s children into the habit of proper grammar.

“There _were_ trolls, Rose,” Hermione corrected. “They _ate_ you.” Rose and Lily gasped in horror, and Hermione smacked herself in the forehead. “There _weren't_ trolls, and they _didn’t_ eat you.” She could practically _hear_ Harry’s smirk, and she knew he’d never let her live that blunder down. “Rosie, what are you doing still up?”

“I was scared,” Rose admitted. Well, that was as good a reason as any, Hermione guessed.

“Why’d you wake up Lily?” Harry asked. Rose held her younger sister closer and jutted out her chin stubbornly, raising her nose high in the air in a perfect imitation of her mother, or of her professorial namesake.

“Then the trolls would have ate her!” Rose said, drawing out the words slowly so that her parents could follow her brilliant logic. Hermione wondered if this is how all her friends felt every time they talked to her, and she turned to see Harry trying his damnedest not to burst into laughter.

“Eaten,” Hermione corrected. Rose rolled her eyes - where she picked up that habit Hermione would never know - and scoffed, as if to say _the English language makes no sense_. She gave her mother a more disdainful look than should have been possible for six-year-old.

“Rosie, what did I tell you about monsters?”

“There isn’t any?” Rose guessed.

“Aren’t any,” Hermione corrected, completely on instinct. Rose stuck her tongue out – that she’d learned from Harry or Ron. Harry snorted, and Hermione flicked his nose in response. “There aren’t any monsters in your room. It was just a bad dream.”

“But it seemed so real!” Rose insisted. Lily had already found a good spot to snuggle on top of Harry’s chest, and Harry reached out an arm to curl his other two girls in. Rose was more than happy to squeeze her way between her mum and dad, but Crookshanks was a little more dubious, meowing in protest when Lily insisted he sleep next to them.

“It was just a dream,” Harry echoed. “I promise.”

“But…” Rose protested. She nervously ran a hand through her thick brown hair. While Lily looked exactly like Harry, Rose was more of a mix of her parents. She and Lily had their father’s eyes, but while Lily had a mop of jet-black hair, Rose had a bushy mane of brown curls, slowly approaching the embarrassingly wild nonsense Hermione remembered from her adolescence. Neither of the girls would thank them when they were insecure teenagers. With Harry and Hermione Potter as parents, Merlin knows the girls’ hair would be nigh impossible to tame. “What if there really is a monster?”

“Well, you’re a brilliant witch, Rose,” Harry replied. He flashed Hermione a smile. “Just like your mum. You can handle anything.” He reached blindly to the bedside table and grabbed his wand. “What do we say if there’s a boggart in the closet?” he asked.

“Riddikulas!”

“Riklas!”

Rose and Lily shouted the spell – or in Lily’s case her best approximation of the spell – and waved their right hands in the air as if casting spells from imaginary wands. _How can Rose say that but not ‘eaten’?_ Hermione wondered.

“And if there’s a dementor in the curtains?”

“Expecto Patronum!”

“Patroom!”

Hermione had to bite down on her fist to stifle her giggle, especially at Lily’s endearing attempt to verbalize the Patronus charm.

“And if there’s a load of Cornish Pixies in the ceiling?” Harry asked.

“Immobilous!”

“Moobly!”

All three of them started laughing at that, even Lily, whose put out expression slowly cracked into a giggle.

“And if there’s a troll?” Harry asked, bringing it full circle. This time, neither girl was afraid, and they answered proudly.

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

“Wingie Levosa!”

Hermione was silently bursting with pride at Rose’s perfect verbalization of the levitating charm. She made a mental note to rub it into Ron’s face the next time she saw him. Lily’s needed some work, Hermione conceded, but she was proud of her youngest daughter nonetheless.

“Actually, you stick your wand in his nose,” Harry grinned. “Then you get troll boogers!”

“Ewwww!” Rose and Lily chorused. They had matching grins, and Hermione was proud of her husband. As silly as Harry could be sometimes, no one could dare question his meris as a father.

“You’re proper Gryffindors,” Harry said proudly, ruffling Lily’s hair.

“Uncle Draco says it’s better to be a Slytherin ‘cause they’re more smarter,” Rose said. Harry’s eyes bulged comically. It was his greatest shame, that _Draco Malfoy_ had somehow become the girls’ favorite uncle.

“Smarter, not-” Harry cut Hermione off before she could correct Rose’s grammar again. Apparently he thought there were things more important than proper diction.

“Malf- _Uncle Draco_ is silly. Gryffindors are the best! We’re the bravest! You want to be brave, right?”

“But…” Rose tried to argue, but Hermione cut her off. Honestly, the girl just liked to argue half the time, and they all needed sleep.

“All the houses are good. Teddy is in Hufflepuff, Auntie Luna was in Ravenclaw, Uncle Draco was a Slytherin, and Uncle Ron was in Gryffindor. When you go to Hogwarts, you’ll be great wherever you get sorted.

“But where were mum and dad sorted?” Harry asked defiantly.

“GRYFFINDOR!” Rose and Lily cheered, and Harry gave her a smug grin.

“Alright girls, time to sleep,” Hermione said. Lily and Rose groaned in protest, but Hermione noticed the way Lily’s eyes started to get heavy.

“Daddy,” Lily whispered softly. “Do the ‘patroom.”

“Please?” Rose asked, her eyes wide and pleading. Hermione laughed as Harry’s tired resolve turned to mush. He could face down Voldemort and outfly a dragon, but Harry Potter was nothing against the combined might of his daughters.

“Fine,” Harry grumbled. He grabbed his wand and muttered _Expecto Patronum!_ A regal, silvery stag trotted proudly at the foot of the bed, and Rose and Lily clapped with excitement.

“Bye Prongs!” Lily said as the stag vanished. She yawned loudly and closed her eyes, falling asleep quickly. Hermione supposed she was much like her father in that way.

“Mum?” Rose asked quietly, interrupting Hermione.

“What is it Rosie?” Hermione asked, hugging the girl.

“I’m sorry for being scared,” she whispered.

“Now, why would you be sorry?” Hermione asked, kissing her softly on the top of her head.

“I wanted to be brave,” Rose said sadly. “But I’m not brave. I’m sorry.”

“Oh Rose,” Hermione said soothingly. “Bravery isn’t about not being scared. Bravery means facing your fears. And here’s what we’re going to do.” She propped her self on one elbow to face her daughter. “We’re going to sleep now, and tomorrow, you and me and Daddy and Lily are going to go through the entire house and chase all the monsters out!”

“All of them? Promise?” Rose asked.

“All of them,” Hermione vowed. “And we’re going to be so brave.” She turned to Harry for confirmation, but Harry was already fast asleep.

“Can you do the thing, Mum?” Rose asked. “The thing you do when I can’t sleep?”

Hermione grinned warmly and grabbed her own wand. She pointed it at the ceiling and with a flick of her wrist turned the white ceiling into a vast sea of stars. It was the spell from the Great Hall in Hogwarts, the first of many times Hermione remembered feeling truly amazed. Rose gasped in awe, staring at the moving lights

“I love magic,” Rose whispered conspiratorially.

“I love magic too, Rosie,” Hermione whispered back, smiling as the girl slowly fell asleep. "But I love you even more." She looked up to see Harry’s wide grin, his eyes bright. So he wasn’t quite asleep yet.

“It turned out alright in the end, didn’t it,” Harry mumbled sleepily, giving her a loving smile.

“Yeah, it did,” Hermione smiled back. She kissed Harry softly, taking care not to wake the sleeping girls between them, and she snuggled close, letting sleep finally overtake her.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I'm writing for this fandom, so you might find some errors. Definitely let me know. This fic might be in need of an editor. Hope you like it anyways! 
> 
> Hermione's studies (which I know I pulled out of my ass) are based off of Einstein's miracle year, where he wrote four Nobel-worthy papers in one year. I think Hermione being the Wizarding World's Albert Einstein is an apt comparison.
> 
> Feel free to drop a comment and tell me what you think!!


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